


12 Years in the Making

by anotherday_anotherfic



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!!!!!, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, an interpretation of viktor's fam, super light angst at one (1) point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherday_anotherfic/pseuds/anotherday_anotherfic
Summary: The first time Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov met, they were both six years old...(secret santa gift for nightofviolet on tumblr!)





	12 Years in the Making

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snow_Falls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Falls/gifts).



The first time the Nikiforov family came to Yu-Topia Akatsuki, their only child, Viktor, and the youngest of the Katsuki family, Yuuri, were only six years old. 

* * *

Hiroko heard the shifting of the kitchen’s noren before she saw the little one that went with it. Her children, Mari and Yuuri, looked up as well, towards the entrance. There stood a boy, no older than her Yuuri, with pale skin and hair so ash blond it looked silver. 

_ Ah _ , she thought,  _ our guests.  _

A family of three--mother, father, child--came through the day before; Hiroko remembered them very specifically, firstly because they weren’t getting too many guests these days, and that they were  _ Russian _ , of all things. Russians of the name Nikiforov, who spoke in a mix of their native language, some English, and rudimentary Japanese.

Their child, though, was the sweetest thing. Although he hid behind his mother’s leg, his little blue eyes had darted around the lobby, sparkling with curiosity and body vibrating with barely-concealed energy. 

But she never got his name. Now would be a good a time as any. 

“Zdravstvuyte,”  _ Hello, _ she said, praying her pronunciation was at least  _ manageable _ . Hiroko had looked up basic Russian phrases in one of their many translation books the night before, just in case something like this would happen. 

It must have been fine, because the boy greets her back the same. She smiled and knelt down to his height. 

“kak vas zovut?”  _ What’s your name? _

“Viktor!” He said, grinning ear-to-ear. Hiroko had to resist laying a hand over her heart;  _ his smile was shaped like one! _

Viktor said something else, perhaps a question, but Hiroko’s Russian was not so advanced. 

“What?” She asked, this time in English. Hopefully he knew at least a little bit...

“Ah!” Viktor exclaimed, and then pointed at the sink where Mari was stacking the plates. She’d gone back to her own business, they way she is, but Yuuri hadn’t. He stood on a his step stool, still holding a plate and towel in his hands, openly staring at Viktor. He seemed curious, interested. Now that Hiroko thought of it, this may be the first time Yuuri has, in-person, seen a foreigner. Their guests were typically local, or at least Japanese; Hiroko must find out, in return, how the Nikiforovs found _ them _ . 

Viktor mimed washing something, and Hiroko understood. 

“Pomogite?”  _ Help? _ She asked, then pointed to Viktor. “Vy...Pomogite?”  _ You...help? _

Viktor nodded vigorously, shaking his shoulder-length hair around. Hiroko laughed and nodded back. 

“Okay,” she said. “Come.” 

Hiroko gestured for Yuuri to scoot over, which he did, closer to her. Mari was checking her nails, seemingly as unimpressed as always, except for the intrigued glances she kept sending the Russian boy’s way. Viktor waved at the both of them, but his gaze primarily settled on her son. 

“Konnichiha!” He said, only tripping a bit over the unknown vowel structure. He pointed to himself, “Viktor,” and then to Yuuri, “You?” 

Yuuri stared blankly. He was only six years old, after all; his English was nothing beyond hello. 

“I think he’s asking you your name, dear,” Hiroko whispered. 

“Ah!” Yuuri’s cheeks went a bit red, but they do so easily, after all. “Y-Yuuri.” 

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked. The boy in question nodded. Viktor looked overjoyed at the confirmation, and quite literally jumped at him, forcing Yuuri into a hug. “Yuuri!” He yelled, again. 

Hiroko wasn’t sure why this boy was so enthusiastic about that name, but children have been known for having stranger fascinations. 

“Yes,” Yuuri said, still holding the plate and towel. Hiroko took it for him so he could hesitantly lean into the embrace. “Viktor?”

“Da!” Viktor pulled back and then flexed his fingers at Hiroko. She laughed again and handed him his own towel. 

Viktor appeared excited about this, too, and happily stood and dried dishes with Yuuri. Hiroko had worried only for a moment if the language barrier would get between them, but apparently not. The two boys weren’t really talking, just gesturing and staring at each other, but that seemed to be enough. 

Ah, she thought, looking at the three children with a smile on her face. Childhood, so simple. 

Eventually, though, Viktor’s parents came by to grab him; apparently, he’d wandered off without telling anyone. Or, at least, that was what Hiroko could gleam from the overheard scoldings and harried apologies to her. She reassured them it was fine and that Viktor could come back again any time. 

Viktor waved goodbye. Hiroko looked to her children to see Mari giving him a peace sign and Yuuri cautiously waving back, his towel held close to his mouth, a half-mask for his face. His ears were blushed. 

A strange experience, yes, but Hiroko had thought that would be the end of it. 

Instead, it was only the beginning.

* * *

 

The next day, Yuuri took Viktor to the local rink. Or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the boys wheedled two adults to escort them there. Hiroko had watched in amusement when, told that Viktor had never been on the ice before, Yuuri became absolutely scandalized and begged to let them go together. 

So, there they were. Hiroko and Viktor’s mother, Inessa, stood at the side of the rink, watching Yuuri coax Viktor out onto the ice, cheered on by the rink owner’s child, Yuuko. 

“I cannot thank you enough, for being so welcoming,” Inessa said, staring at her son anxiously. “Really, you didn’t have to...”

“No, no,” Hiroko clucked back. She was also watching the children, but her Yuuri had been on the ice many times by now; starting at five, and now more than a year later, still loving it almost as much as his dance lessons with Minako. That boy was definitely going to be an artist some day. “It’s quite alright. I’m happy that they’re getting along so well.”

Inessa hummed. “I am as well.”

Viktor had finally gotten onto the ice, legs wobbling a bit. Yuuri grabbed his hand while Viktor grabbed the wall. Viktor turned to him with another sweet smile and slowly, with more wordless encouragement from Yuuko, they moved forward together. 

“Aren’t they sweet?” A new feminine voice said, in Japanese, startling the two mothers. 

“Ah, Machiko! Good afternoon!” Hiroko said, bowing slightly in Yuuko’s mother’s direction. 

“Hello, Hiroko,” She returned the bow, then pointed at Inessa. “Who’s this?”

“Inessa. She, her husband, and son,” Hiroko pointed to Viktor, who had let go of the wall and now used Yuuri’s hand as sole support, “Are guests at the onsen. Yuuri took a shine to Viktor over there and just  _ begged _ us to let them go skating.” 

Machiko laughed. “Ah, I see! Well, thank you for coming.” She bowed respectfully to Inessa, who tilted her head forward in acknowledgment. “Thank you for your patronage, Inessa,” Machiko said, now in English. 

“Ah, oh, thank you,” Inessa replied. Machiko nodded politely and turned on her heel to get back to what was most likely paperwork. Hiroko turned back to Inessa, and almost laughed at the bewildered expression on her face. Inessa inhaled as if to speak again, but a muffled _ thump _ brought their attention back to the ice. 

Viktor stood partially in a crouch, hands on the ice to stop what was clearly a fall. 

“Vitya!” Inessa cried, leaning over the barrier. She spoke a steady stream of concerned Russian, and, in harmony with it, Yuuri asked urgently if he was alright. 

“ Ya v poryadke!” Viktor yelled to his mother. Ah, Hiroko knew that one;  _ I’m fine _ . Investing her time in reading those books last night, too, was apparently worth it. 

And to Yuuri, he turned and replied, too, but not in the way they were expecting. Yuuri was speaking Japanese, of which Viktor knew none, but somehow...

“大丈夫!”  _ I’m okay! _ He said to Yuuri, hands raised up to show off his lack of bruising. Yuuri helped him up again and they resumed skating. All of this was fine to them, but to their mothers...

“I thought your son didn’t speak Japanese,” Hiroko noted. 

Inessa nodded, then shook her head. “He doesn’t. Or he didn’t? I don’t know. Maybe he picked it up off Yuuri.” 

“Well,” Hiroko replied, watching Yuuri perform a stop using the sides of his blades to an openly impressed Viktor. “They do say that the young mind is good for this sort of thing. Learning new language, that is,” She added at Inessa’s questioning hum. 

“That must be it,” Inessa mused. She pressed her index finger over her chin. “Vitya must have understood what your Yuuri was saying... What did he say, by the way?” 

“大丈夫,” Hiroko repeated. “I’m okay.”

“That sounds like what Yuuri was saying, too.” 

“Oh, it is. But in the form of a question”

“Huh,” Inessa hummed contemplatively. For a few minutes they watched in silence as Yuuri and Yuuko taught Viktor how to stop and turn; he was picking it up like second nature. “Yuuri must be a good teacher.” 

“Or maybe your son is a natural,” Hiroko replied. Inessa chuckled. 

“If Viktor is a natural,” She said, “Yuuri must be then, too. They’re both so very young, but look at them...” 

“They are young, aren’t they? I barely remember myself at this age.”

Inessa laughed. “Oh, me too.” 

After some time spent watching the boys--and lone girl skate--Inessa’s phone rang, startling the mostly-silence of the rink; it was her husband, apparently done with a business meeting. She and Viktor had to leave to meet him at a restaurant farther into the city on time. 

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” Inessa said apologetically. “I feel like we’re abandoning you two, after you’ve done something so kind...” 

“Oh no!” Hiroko reassured. “It’s fine. We knew this would be a short day, afterall.” 

“Vitya!” Inessa called. As Viktor, Yuuri, and Yuuko slid over to their side of the rink, she added, “Perhaps this is too forward, but, Vitya seems to be enjoying himself. I hope in the future my son and yours can come back here.” 

Hiroko smiled. “I hope so, too.” 

Viktor and Yuuri stayed glued together until they reached the Nikiforov’s called taxi. The moment they had to part, Yuuri looked up at her with watery eyes. 

“Oh, honey!” Hiroko cooed, and picked him up. “What’s wrong?”

“Is-is Viktor gonna come back?” 

“Oh,” Hiroko chuckled, “Of course! He’s a guest at home, remember? He’ll be back tonight.” 

“Good!” Yuuri grinned, relieved and displaying--or, perhaps, not--his missing front tooth. He’d been very proud of it when it fell out; he insisted on throwing it up into the air outside immediately afterward. “Can we all go to the rink again?” 

“Sure,” Hiroko replied, walking them home. “Sure.”

* * *

 

Indeed, they did. Most days during the Nikiforov’s two-week stay they went to the rink, Minako’s studio, or just stayed at the onsen doing whatever children with a massive language barrier do. It was sort of a lucky time, as Yuuri and Mari were on a school break.

It didn’t seem to matter to them that they usually had to gesture, guess, or even ask their parents what the other said; they got along wonderfully, anyway. Hiroko believed that was the mark of true companionship, when two people can overcome together. 

Unfortunately, though, the stay did have to end--the Nikiforovs had to return to St. Petersburg at some point, after all. 

Before they left, a teary eyed Viktor shoved a paper into a similarly teary eyed Yuuri’s hands. He pointed at himself, then mimicked writing. Hiroko looked over Yuuri’s shoulder at the paper.

_ Oh _ , she thought. It was an address; assumingly, the Nikiforov’s. 

Hiroko looked up at Inessa and her husband, Dmitry; they just smiled, albeit nervously, question in their expression. 

_ Is this okay? _ Is what they asked. Hiroko nodded. 

_ It’s more than okay.  _

“He wants you to write him letters,” She whispered to Yuuri. Her son jumped and nodded eagerly to Viktor. 

They hugged once again before departing, promising to write through gestures and garbled language. The Katsukis watched the car leave, but when it went over the horizon, Yuuri tugged her hand desperately. 

“Mama!” He yelled, “They have to come back! It’s important!”

“What, what is it?” Hiroko asked frantically.  _ Did they forget something? Does Yuuri know where it is? How will we-- _

“I know where  _ Viktor _ lives,” Yuuri sniffled, “But Viktor doesn’t know where  _ I  _ live!”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Hiroko sighed, nerves alleviated. “Viktor already knows. He has the address; it’s okay.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri said. He giggled when Toshiya and Mari ruffled his hair on their way back inside. “That’s good. Can I write a letter now?”

Hiroko laughed. “Of course you can, dear.”

* * *

 

The next year, the Nikiforovs came back. And the year after that, and the next...

It became a routine; Viktor and Yuuri sent each other letters throughout the year, along with drawings, some mementos, and the occasional photograph. 

Along with help from their parents, they began learning each other’s native language (English, too, so they could understand what their parents talked about). 

Once a year--or twice, one or two lucky occasions--the Nikiforovs came all the way from St. Petersburg, Russia to Hasetsu, Japan. And every time, they went skating. 

“Did you know,” Viktor asked one day, when they were ten, “That you can ice skate for a living?” 

Yuuri skidded to a stop and sharply turned to face him. “No! I didn’t know that!”

Viktor beamed. “It’s true! It’s big in Russia. It’s called figure skating and it’s beautiful! I brought some magazines, I’ll show you when we get back home.” 

That’s what Viktor had been calling it lately, home. He didn’t live there, as his parents had repeatedly told him when they thought he got too ‘rowdy,’ but it sometimes felt like he did. 

They were here so often, and...Yuuri was here, too. Viktor was an only child; he wondered if this is what having a brother felt like. 

(And a sister, in the form of Mari. Although she scared him sometimes; he caught the 16-year-old smoking once, and if looks could kill...)

Well, it didn’t matter, Viktor supposed. He grabbed Yuuri’s hand and pulled him into spins. He watched his friend gasp and laugh in surprise; Viktor felt bloom warmth in his chest, and, far in the back of his mind, something said that the feeling wasn’t brotherly. 

Not so long later, Yuuri came barreling into the master bedroom with an shouted, “Mom!” 

Hiroko looked down from her book to see Yuuri shuffling excitedly in the doorway. She smiled warmly. 

“Yes, Yuuri?” 

“When I grow up,” he said, “I’m going to be a figure skater!” 

Oh. Well, Hiroko supposed she should’ve expected something like this. 

“Is that what you want?” She asked. 

“Yes!” Yuuri cried, “Viktor and I are gonna be figure skaters and be pretty and win all the medals!”

“Okay,” Hiroko said, “I’ll look into it.” 

“Yes!” Her son yelled, and ran out of the room, presumably to look at the skating magazines they picked up from the store earlier in the day. 

Hiroko closed her book and sighed. 

She knew next to nothing about figure skating, other than that coaches were expensive; the Nikiforovs would be able to afford one, no problem. But their family of four, supported only by a small business barely staying afloat? That posed a lot more issues. 

Regardless, Hiroko promised she would research into coaches. She saw her son’s passion for both dance and the ice; if this is what he wanted, she and Toshiya would give it to him.

* * *

 

Things got...complicated, one could say, once both boys gained coaches. 

Amazingly, they were both scouted, in their own respective countries. Yuuri at age 12, skating basic figures with great precision, caught the eye of near-retired coach Kageyama Arata taking his grandkids to the quiet, local rink that was Ice Castle Hasetsu. 

And Viktor, aged the same, seen by Yakov Feltsman on a trip to the St. Petersburg Olympic rink while skating during the weekend public skate. 

Now, there they were, getting serious. And as they did, especially with this Feltsman’s high expectations, the Nikiforov’s trips to Hasetsu dwindled. They didn’t stop, no, nor did the letters, it was just...the time between each grew and grew. 

Four years later, at 16-years-old, they were well established in their respective countries, and the world, to some extent. 

It was a hot, muggy summer.

* * *

 

Viktor slowly sunk down into the deep blue Hasetsu ocean, opening his eyes despite the saltwater to stare at the peaceful, muffled sea floor. Even in the cool water, he felt the sun beating down against his back. 

Sometimes, he really damned his long hair. It was terrible for the summer months.

When Viktor rose for air, he met his closest friend’s eyes; Yuuri Katsuki, the junior Ace of Japan. Droplets trickled down his cheek when he smiled. Yuuri’s ruddy brown eyes sparkled brightly in the sun, and his hair glittered as if sprinkled with stars. 

Viktor’s heart leapt into his throat, as it often did nowadays when he looked at Yuuri. Or even thought about him, really. 

He was a romantic at heart; he knew he’d fallen for Yuuri long ago, perhaps even the moment they met. Yuuri was an absolutely gorgeous person, inside and out. And God, did Viktor love him. 

Although he hesitated to say  _ love _ , at least aloud, if out of nothing but plain and simple  _ fear _ . He didn’t know if Yuuri felt the same, and even if he did, how would it  _ work _ ? They live on opposite sides of the world, busy with skating competitions and school and...what else was there?

Oh, yes; all the pining, although Viktor admitted that may be one-sided. 

“...kay? Viktor?”

_ Oh, Yuuri was speaking.  _

“Uh-sorry,” Viktor stuttered. “What?” 

Yuuri cocked a concerned brow. “I was asking if you were okay. You were just staring at me...” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” he replied, pushing his hair back. “I’m fine, just daydreaming, I guess.” 

“Oh, good!” Yuuri grinned, “Because I was thinking that after this, we could--Ah!” 

Yuuri’s body jerked forward, falling into Viktor’s chest. They fell back into the water together; Viktor didn’t even have time to appreciate Yuuri’s proximal warmth, regardless of the pulsing summer sun. 

They pushed up against the rolling waves, gasping and coughing, and looked behind themselves to find the culprit--Viktor’s standard poodle, Makkachin. 

“Oh, God,” Viktor choked, “Makka, why?” 

Makkachin just panted excitedly, paddling around in the water and even still trying to cuddle with Yuuri; Viktor doesn’t blame him for that last part, though. 

“Ugh,” Yuuri wheezed, beating his chest, “Let’s go back to shore. I think I need a break...”

“Yeah,” Viktor agreed, “Me too.”

* * *

 

Later on, all dried off and ice cream running down the sides of their hands, they sat under the shade near the beach. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor began, “What’s your theme this year?” 

Yuuri hummed, and licked chocolate streaks from his hand. Viktor tried not to stare too much. 

“I’m not sure,” he said. “What about you?”

“...Belonging.”

“Belonging?”

“Yeah,” Viktor said. “You and your family have made a second home for me here. I know that when I’m desperate, when I’m alone, I can always come here. I feel belonging, and I want to dedicate something to you. All of you.”

(Viktor’s mother succumbed to cancer the year before; he took the season off to recover and spend time with his father. Yuuri had performed significantly worse the last season as a result, not only from the absence of Viktor’s charming, encouraging spirit, but Inessa’s death too. She wasn’t his mother, but certainly someone important to him. 

The press seemingly made no connection to Viktor’s absence and Yuuri’s stumbles. Yuuri was known for being inconsistent, anyway.)

After several severely quiet moments, Viktor peeked up shyly to see Yuuri’s reaction. He didn’t know what he  _ was _ expecting, but it wasn’t the tears streaming down his friend’s cheeks. 

“Yuuri!” He cried, uncaringly throwing the last of his ice cream to the ground. Makkachin sat between them, and whined at the sudden distress in the air. 

Viktor bent over Makkachin and cradled Yuuri’s face, thumbs frantically wiping away the teardrops. Yuuri finally looked directly at him. 

“Yuuri, oh God, are you okay?!” Viktor begged for an answer, “Please, Yuuri, talk to me!”

“I...” Yuuri murmured, “I’m okay. I was just surprised is all,” Yuuri smiled softly and leaned in to one of Viktor’s hands. One of his own came up to grip back. “And happy. That you see us as belonging. As  _ home _ .”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor was sure the expression on his face was a bit stupid; awed and relieved and  _ melancholic _ . “Of course I do. I have since the first time we parted.” 

Yuuri huffed a small laugh. “I hope, one day, we won’t have to part anymore.”

Viktor exhaled shakily, and licked his lips. Yuuri’s eyes had closed, still leaning into his touch. 

“I hope so, too.”

(The moment was broken when they realized Makkachin was trying to get to Yuuri’s ice cream; he’d eaten Viktor’s already, which had--thankfully--been vanilla. But Yuuri’s was chocolate, and they spent the next ten minutes or so finding a trash can and cleaning up as best they can.)

* * *

 

The next year, Yuuri left for America. Detroit, specifically, which worried Viktor greatly, from all the American horror stories he’s heard about the city. He didn’t tell Yuuri this though; sometimes, nearly any small, seemingly insignificant comment could explode into intrusive thoughts--worse than normal--and paralyzing panic attacks. 

Viktor stayed in St. Petersburg. He left it often, sure, but it’s the only place he’d ever  _ lived _ . He was born and raised in that city, and could only comprehend leaving if it was with his father and to Hasetsu. 

Viktor  _ did _ express to Yuuri his awe, though. 

_ You’re brave _ , Viktor wrote in an email.  _ I could never do that. You’re amazing, Yuuri. I can’t wait to see you again. _

_ Yes, you could _ , Yuuri wrote back.  _ I know you’d do better than me. It’s barely been a week, and I already miss home. _

_ That’s natural. It doesn’t make you bad. It just says that you love home, and your home loves you, right? I’d miss it too. _

_ I guess you’re right. Thank you. I’ll see you soon. I hope. _

The thing that caught Viktor’s attention, specifically, was the signature at the end. Typically, it was just Yuuri’s name, or not even that; they knew who they were writing to. This one, though, this one made Viktor dizzy, chest pound, and helium filling his lungs. 

His heart was in the air, when he read Yuuri’s farewell. 

_ Love _ , it said,  _ Yuuri. _

* * *

 

(Meanwhile, on the other side of the Earth...)

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Yuuri whispered to himself in his empty dorm room. Then, louder, “I  _ can’t  _ believe,  _ I _ , just did  _ that _ !”

He just told his childhood friend, the among the persons closest to his heart--right beside his family--the boy he’s been  _ in love with for years _ , _ that Viktor Nikiforov _ , how he felt. 

Or, essentially how he felt. It could be interpreted as platonic, and although Yuuri’s mind knows that would probably be the better outcome, his heart goes against him, once again.

He wants Viktor to  _ notice _ , to  _ acknowledge _ , to  _ return _ those feelings, just as much as Yuuri feels them now. 

Yet, it’s not that simple. They live on different continents, opposite sides of the world; they always have, even if Yuuri switched places. It was still just as far.

They’re close, yes, but Yuuri doesn’t know if Viktor’s attracted to him. The last thing he’d want to do is force anything on his dearest friend. 

Speaking of friends, though, the door to the dorm is unlocking and Yuuri should get off the floor and out of his self-pity-posture before his roommate comes in. 

Phcihit Chulanont, whom Yuuri has started a tentative friendship with. The other boy is a skater, too; a year younger, from Thailand, and incredibly enthused about  _ everything _ . Phichit has an easy energy Yuuri finds comforting in the face of unknowns. 

Phichit, Yuuri thinks, is the sort of person who would take a secret to the grave, if it was dear enough to you. If they’re going to be living together, Yuuri hopes his interpretation is right. 

“Hello, Yuuri!” Phichit crooned as he walked through the door. Upon seeing Yuuri sitting curled around his laptop, he added, “Uh, oh, something’s happened, I can tell. You wanna talk about it?”

“I basically just told the guy I like that I like him,” Yuuri blurted, before his mind could scrap together anything resembling general sanity. 

Phichit squealed, and dropped to his knees next to him so fast Yuuri jumped. “Oh my god, that’s so exciting! Who is it? Anybody I know?”

“...We both just got here, right?” Yuuri probed. “Neither of us know anyone.” 

“Oh. Right,” Phichit shifted his legs to sit criss-cross. “Okay, so, someone back home then?”

“Sort of,” Yuuri scratched his cheek sheepishly and shifted the laptop onto the bed behind him. Maybe--or definitely--he shouldn’t have said anything. Although, honestly, who else can he talk about this with? “He isn’t from Japan, but I’ve known him forever. He visited my family’s inn when we were kids, and we were friends ever since. I’ve liked him for so long, but I don’t know if he likes me.”

“Aw, I’m sure he does!” Phichit cooed, placing his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Though when Yuuri flinched--he’s never been one for touching, especially from people he didn’t know too well--Phichit removed his hand. He didn’t say a word about it; Yuuri felt something release in his chest.

“You don’t know that,” He muttered. 

“Maybe not really, but you just seem so great, Yuuri!” Phichit said. Yuuri noted that many of his sentences ended in verbal exclamation points; he also noted that it wasn’t a bad thing at all. “I know we’ve only known each other for, like, a week?” Phichit mimed inspecting a watch on his wrist. “But you’re nice, attractive, your skating is amazing,  _ and _ you’re really good cook.”

(Ah, yes. Yuuri made them both food the night before. Phichit looked as if he would cry from joy when he took a bite. 

Yuuri doesn’t think he’s that great, but it was flattering nonetheless.) 

Yuuri sputtered and hid his face in his hands, snaking underneath his glasses. 

“Aw, see?” Phichit chirped. “You’re cute, too!”

“Phichit, you can’t just say that!”

“Why not?”

Yuuri peeked out from behind his hands. “That’s just so nice, and you don’t even know me! What if it’s all a mask and I’m actually a serial killer or something?”

“Well,” Phichit blinked, “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh despite himself. He took off his glasses to clean. 

“But, really, Yuuri,” He continued, “I bet everything’s gonna be fine! I’m sure there's more great stuff about you that I haven’t learned yet!” Phichit didn’t seem too perturbed at Yuuri’s abashed silence. “Do you wanna check if he’s responded?”

“Yes and no,” Yuuri replied. He slowly brought his laptop back into his lap, though. 

“Check it, check it!” When he saw Yuuri’s wary look, he added, “Oh sorry. I’ll look away.”

Once Phichit had turned around, Yuuri opened up his laptop to find a new message in his inbox.

_ Viktor.  _

Yuuri inhaled sharply. He ignored Phichit’s questions of,  _ Is it him? Did he write back? What did he say? _

Yuuri opened the email. 

_ I want to see you too _ , it said,  _ so badly _ . 

The email ended in a heart, signed with  _ Love, Vitya. _

* * *

 

Viktor and Yuuri tentatively moved into something... _ more _ . Shy and slow; definitely more than friends, but  _ what _ , exactly? Viktor offered options over the phone--friend, boyfriend, lover, and, only half-joking,  _ soulmate _ \--but Yuuri rejected each one.

_ “I want you to be you, Viktor! You don’t need to be anything else but yourself.” _ Viktor heard Yuuri’s smile over the line, continents away.  _ “I like  _ you _ , remember?” _

Viktor remembered. Quite happily, indeed. 

He was counting down the days until they could meet again. They’d both be at the Trophee De France for their first senior Grand Prix series. 

_ It’s just months now _ , Viktor reasoned.  _ Only a matter of time.  _

Paris bustled around them, hurried and bright, but Viktor paid no mind. The only thing he saw, felt, was Yuuri’s hand in his. 

Viktor looked at him fondly, his boyfriend’s(!!!!!!) eyes sparkling with the help of streetlamps and passing shop lights.

_ Although _ , Viktor thought,  _ he doesn’t need any help. _ Yuuri is more radiant than the sun all on his own. 

Yuuri looked over at him, smiled, and squeezed his hand. Viktor fought to keep his smile from becoming wobbled with lovesickness. 

“Let’s go to the Eiffel,” Yuuri said, hushed, like he was keeping this information theirs and theirs alone. “I’ve never been there before. And if we’re in Paris...”

“We should,” Viktor replied. “It would only be right, as tourists for the night.”

Yuuri giggled. Viktor’s heart swelled. He pulled Yuuri forward, pushing through the crowd around them. 

Viktor had eyes for two things: Yuuri, and their destination.

* * *

 

The warmth from Viktor’s hand flowed into Yuuri’s chest. He could imagine that when they touched, their hearts connected, even if only for a moment.

They stood on the elevator up the tower, Yuuri leaned back into Viktor’s chest to make more room for other passengers. 

(Obviously, though, this wasn’t nearly a hardship.)

The wind at the top of the tower was biting, much more so than on the ground; the air was caught between fall and winter, but Yuuri didn’t mind, couldn’t, when Viktor tugged him to a less-populated glassed ledge. 

Viktor’s hair was in a braid tonight; Yuuri remembered weaving flowers into it when they were younger. 

Viktor was always trying to get him to grow his hair out, too-- _ to return the favor _ , he’d say. Yuuri would say  _ maybe _ , but maybe would never lead anywhere and here they are, Viktor’s hair nearly past his waist and Yuuri’s curled around his ears. 

As if Viktor could read his thoughts, he swept a lock of hair back behind Yuuri’s ear. He heard Viktor laughing, softly, privately, when he leant into the touch. 

Viktor wrapped an arm around his shoulder; Yuuri leaned in close, keeping them both bathed in moonlight and twinkling stars. 

“Everyone looks like ants from up here,” Viktor whispered, squeezing his shoulder.

Yuuri laughed, “You say that every time we’re up some place high.” It was true; the first time they’d been up to the top of Hasetsu Castle, Viktor said that. The first time they spent the day climbing trees, he’d sad that. Sitting on his father’s shoulders, he’d say that, but only when Yuuri was around.

“Well, I have to,” Viktor replies. “It’s a thing, now. One of us has to do it.”

“Fair,” Yuuri said. “But I get to say it next time.”

Viktor laughed again, nodded, and caught his eye. There was always something about Viktor’s eyes; light cerulean, like seaglass, that Yuuri never tired of gazing upon. It sounded sappy, yes, and something you’d read in some cheesy romance, but that didn’t mean it was wrong. 

Yuuri reached up and pieced stray, wispy hairs from Viktor’s face. There were other people around them, sure, but Yuuri paid no mind, for once. He didn’t consider their eyes, their thoughts, their proximity. He didn’t feel the thrill of paranoia up his spine, the need to spin around and confront whatever’s staring and finding nothing but empty air. 

No, right now, Yuuri was wrapped up in Viktor, and Viktor in him, and that’s what he needed right then.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed, eyes roaming around his face. “May I ask a favor of you?”

Yuuri hummed and replied, teasing, “I guess that depends on what it is,  _ Vitya _ .”

Yuuri felt Viktor’s blush more than he saw it, through the palm resting on his cheek. 

“Fair,” Viktor echoed. “I want...Can I kiss you?”

“A-ah,” Yuuri had never kissed anyone before--at least as far as he could remember--yet a phantom pressure fell upon his lips, like his body was asking, _ preparing _ for it. 

“Is that a yes?” Viktor asked, moving his face closer. Yuuri didn’t move, nervous and inexperienced (just like Viktor, even if he didn’t realize), but he didn’t back away. Certainly not. 

“...It is,” Yuuri whispered finally, after some tense moments of silence, listening to the quiet chatter of other lovers ( _ other _ lovers! Oh, what a word) around them. “It’s a yes.”

“I-good,” Viktor stuttered. “That’s good.”

“Yes,” Yuuri replied; after Viktor didn’t move, “It is.”

“Yes,” Viktor replied slowly.

“You seem to be a bit stuck on that...”

“Yes,” Viktor.exe has, apparently, shut down. Yuuri sighed.

“C’mere, you.” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s collar and pulled him in for their--somewhat clumsy--first kiss. 

Viktor eventually gets the idea; his arms come to wrap around Yuuri’s waist as they stay glued together. It wasn’t what you see in the movies, but nothing needs to be cinematic, not really. It has to be  _ real, _ and  _ mutual, _ and full of l _ ove _ . It was, it is, and it always will be, if Yuuri has anything to say about it. 

(There's also some comfort in learning together; Yuuri is taken back to that first day with Viktor at the Ice Castle. They skated and held hands and everything that happened then, approximately 12 years ago, has all culminated to  _ now _ , two acclaimed figure skaters embracing in the ambience of Paris.)

When they part, they keep their arms around each other. Viktor knocked his forehead into Yuuri’s.

“You know,” He muttered, “This is 12 years in the making.”

Yuuri giggled and scooted as close as he could. 

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

* * *

 

When Yuuri came to his mom, stating with certainty he would become a figure skater, he listed off his priorities as so:  _ be pretty _ and _ win all the medals _ . The  _ with Viktor _ part was a given. 

Now, none of those are  _ bad  _ goals, but they also aren’t  _ necessary _ . They don’t need circled plates of gold, silver, bronze; they don’t need other people to gawk and cry and buy magazines featuring their photos, posts on forums how  _ gorgeous _ they are, and how figuregayter_22 wants Katsuki Yuuri to step on them, whatever  _ that _ means. 

They could be ice dancers; pair skaters; coaches for children’s classes; hell, they could never skate at all, as much of a tragedy as that is; they’re together, with family and friends and dogs (oh my!). 

Yuuri and Viktor aren’t alone, and they never have been. The world could crash around them and they still wouldn’t be lonely; they’d have each other’s guidance and love and support, through thick and thin, for the foreseeable future, and maybe, someday, till death do them part.

Though, that’s perhaps far in the future; now, they stand together in the streets of Paris, hearts connected through naked palms; they’re together, content, and most of all,  _ ready _ , for whatever the world has to throw at them.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays and Merry Christmas to all, but especially to nightofviolet.tumblr.com , my giftee this year! I hope you enjoyed this; I've never written anything like it before, so I stumbled along the way, but I hope it's good anyway! 
> 
> I should mention: for the Russian, I used google translate, so I can't guarantee the accuracy of the sentence structure. If you have corrections, feel free to let me know!
> 
> (Also, figuregayter_22 is not a reference to anyone. It was just a name I made up.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and have a very Merry Christmas/holidays, and a happy new year!


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